


Nowhere But Down

by prussium



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Drug Abuse, Hippie America, M/M, Punk England, Vampire England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prussium/pseuds/prussium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wanderlust hippie tramps around the UK in search for adventure and gets more than what he bargained for when he meets a darkly enigmatic punk, spiraling into a world of chaos. It's the decade of self indulgence – free love, sex, and drugs. Live fast and die young. (UKUS, 70s AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere But Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkaiShinda (Ayleid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayleid/gifts).



> WARNING: mentions of sex and drug abuse
> 
> For AkaiShinda who gave me the prompt: 1960-1970s AU where vampire Arthur sucks his drug supply from hippie Alfred’s bloodstream

**Nowhere But Down**

Alfred wished the punks would leave him alone for good.

He already lost his belongings (his clothes, money, passport, and supplies) to a group of rascals who snatched them in the middle of a riot. Hours of searching lead him to the less chaotic part of the city, leaving him with little energy.

Feeling utterly miserable, he crumbled on the sidewalk. He didn’t care if he was soaked head to foot from the earlier downpour. He bent his head between his knees in desperation, his long, blond hair curtained upon his face.

“Oi, hippie. What’s the matter with you?”

 _Not again_ , Alfred thought.

He held his head up, but the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. He hated looking vulnerable in front of this punk with his stereotypical haughty stance and poorly-dyed blue hair, despite approaching unarmed. Alfred found it difficult to tear his gaze from those outrageously thick eyebrows though.

His face softened upon seeing Alfred’s brimming eyes, but only for a split second.

“Hey, Arthur!”

“Eyebrows, what are you doing?”

“Taking another homeless kitty home?”

The blue-haired punk’s friends assembled around them, summoned by curiosity. They shared the same sneers, haphazardly drawn eyeliner, and dark, ragged clothing that screamed embittered anger and frustration. One had a beard and curly blond hair, which made him look like a blond, punk Jesus (Alfred quietly uttered an apologetic prayer to the heavens); the other was a chocolate-haired Hispanic who seemed like the only one that could find the bright side in such dispiriting conditions; and the third one had red eyes, and hair as light as his skin that would make him camouflage in the snow.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Bubblegum Eyebrows, apparently named Arthur. “You’re scaring the lad.”

“When did you care about hippies?” Snow Camouflage Boy laughed. “Booooring.”

“C’mon, Art. We’ve got cars to smash and social alienation to fight,” invited Mr. Sunshine.

“He’s not even saying anything. Leave the hippie alone,” said Blond Punk Jesus. “His flower friends will come around.”

Alfred saw hesitation from Arthur’s gaze, as if he was torn between helping him out and leaving him alone to sort out his own problems. Perhaps his friends were right. He must not show weakness; he was a nasty brute after all.

It started raining again before they could seek shelter. Another pack of troublemakers tore through the street, running for their unscathed criminal record. One of them carried an oversized brown bag.

Alfred stared at it with recognition. “H-Hey, that’s my bag!” He screamed and pointed.

“Stay here,” Arthur said and ran after his things.

Unable to protest, his three friends shrugged and took shelter with Alfred under the nearest roof. 

☆ 

Arthur got his bag back without a scratch, and (surprisingly) did not ask for anything in return. After accepting their invitation to stay the night at their place, Alfred felt obliged to admit that he came across a bunch of pretty decent punks. Their apartment was even a better space to sleep in than the overpriced hostel he had to endure since he got to London two days ago.

He had freshened up and changed to his v-neck canvas shirt and loose pants. His long, wavy hair fell across his shoulders, and his round glasses were back in place, fortunately undamaged. He felt himself look younger as he washed the worry from his face.

“So, what brings you to the land of eternal inflation, Freddie?”

Alfred’s face soured at his new nickname. “I got fed up at home. Mom found out I was selling her Mary Jane to my friends and kicked me out,” he shrugged, “She thinks I’m at Dad’s right now and he thinks I went back to her place after I asked for some money, but I went here instead.”

His hosts smirked with amusement.

“Won’t you get in trouble when they find out?” asked Antonio.

“Nah, they never talk to each other anyway,” he said.

Dinner was served from the abundance they scavenged from the riot. Alfred registered their names in his head, replacing the nicknames he gave them. Blond Punk Jesus was Francis, the owner of the apartment who shared it with his closest friends Antonio (Mr. Sunshine), Gilbert (Snow Camouflage Boy), and Arthur.

Over a couple bottles of beer, they talked about their summed up life stories. Alfred learned that everyone except for Arthur were immigrants who came to the UK seeking better opportunities – Gilbert, for example, whose family escaped from the Communists – but were rather welcomed by the discouraging socio-economic conditions.

“And what about him?” asked Alfred, pointing upstairs. His curiosity over the sole English-born was increasing by the second.

“Who? Arthur?” asked Gilbert. “That bloke is old as balls. He can live through anything.”

“He and his brothers were orphaned at a young age,” said Francis, gulping his drink. “They don’t like him at all, Arthur’s brothers. The feeling was mutual, and so he left. At least that’s what he told us.”

“I see,” said Alfred.

“He’s very odd, though,” Antonio shivered. He accompanied his words with animated hand gestures. “Ever since we met him, he has his own strange diet and disappears all of a sudden. He sleeps on the streets – on sidewalks, park benches – wherever he wished! And comes back like nothing happened.”

“Speaking of the devil,” muttered Francis.

Holding a pocket flask, Arthur emerged from the stairs. Although he had changed his clothes, the look on his face remained, the deep scowl seemingly permanent. He sat wordlessly, lit a cigarette, and grabbed a bottle, mixing beer with the mystery flask drink.

Alfred chose to observe as they ate, finding personal entertainment in his new company. They fought over their meal like hyenas after a week-long hunt.

“You’re such a fucking weakling! How are you even alive after all this time?” Gilbert guffawed at Antonio.

“No future, no future,” sang Francis.

“No future for you!” Arthur followed.

Gilbert joined in. Together they sang the punk rock anthem and drummed their palms on the table.

Alfred grabbed his bag, thinking he had to give something in exchange of everything they had done for him. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t much of an ungrateful bastard.

“Hey, I got something for you,” he said when their mini concert died. He handed out three small packs across the table. “That’s some good shit, man,” he continued. “Quality shit. You can’t find much of that here.”

He passed one to Arthur, only to be declined.

“I don’t do that rubbish,” said Arthur.

“Oh,” said Alfred. “We can fuck for free.”

In a heartbeat, Arthur’s face turned into the ultimate image of disgust and outrage. Alfred thought he was even poised to kill.

“For heaven’s sake!” spat Arthur. “Sloppy fucking and drugs – that’s all you bloody Americans care about! Well, I’ve got news for you: this isn’t Woodstock! To hell with free love and peace! Stupid hippie bollocks!”

An abrupt silence erupted.

Arthur’s face glowed bright red from liquor and intense yelling. Trying hard not to show their delight from the building pressure, Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert kept quiet. On the other side of the table, Alfred flinched at Arthur’s heartfelt sermon. He was suddenly shaken to full awareness. He had his fair share of verbal abuse at home; getting yelled at by a stranger wasn’t on his travel bucket list.

“Take it easy, eyebrows!” exclaimed Gilbert.

Antonio gratefully took Alfred’s gift and slid them inside his trouser pockets. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s only waiting for the right person to do it with,” said Francis, his face apologetic.

“Shut it!” Arthur bellowed. His face glowed brighter as if he was about to explode.

“Some obsession with fairytales and true love and shit,” added Antonio.

“Shut it, I said!”

He was not to be mocked again, not with a guest and a tempting offer. Pushed to his limit, he yanked Alfred’s shirt and gave him a fuming kiss.

To his surprise, Alfred almost lost his balance. He tried to redeem his focus so he wouldn’t fall from his seat, reveling on the fact that this mouth that was kissing and biting his lips was the same mouth that bluntly expressed hate and disgust towards him.

Arthur didn’t care contradicting his own words. The goal was to kiss Alfred and piss his friends off.

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert exchanged knowing looks and sneered.

“We’re trying this quality shit you’re talking about,” said Gilbert, rising from his chair.

Alfred broke away from the kiss.

“Far out.” He waved goodbye.

“ _Bonne nuit_.”

Arthur snorted at Francis’ remark.

Alfred thought it sounded nice, just like what it meant.

Left alone to themselves, the Brit faced Alfred. “Are you sleeping with me or what?”

Alfred blinked. “We’re really going all out?”

“Has your offer expired so quickly?” Arthur asked, standing up.

The series of questions led to Arthur’s bedroom upstairs. The Brit secured the door to their friends’ bedroom, thinking about the ferocious noises they made when sleeping together. What more this time when they had something to spice up their night?

Taking advantage of Arthur’s invitation to his bedroom, Alfred plopped on the bed, pressing the warmth of the covers against his cheek. He revealed two small parcels from his pocket as Arthur sat next to him, and was given a skeptical look.

“C’mon, man, take it,” Alfred offered.

Arthur hesitated for a second and muttered, “Don’t listen to them. I’m not a fucking virgin.”

“Yeah, I believe you.”

He took the piece of plastic and held it while listening to Alfred’s instructions. They lay quiet for some moments, waiting for the substances to take effect; it wasn’t long until they streamed through their system.

In a matter of minutes, Arthur already detested the side effects. He began sweating profusely and his breathing became shallow. Intense fear crept in his veins.

“Shit.” He attempted to get up, but his concrete limbs paralyzed him in place.  

“It’s alright, man,” said the voice beside him. “It’s alright.”

Relief came when he heard the soothing voice as it didn’t belong to his distant surroundings. Alfred’s voice was gentle and dreamy, anchoring him to reality. Arthur dared lift an arm and reached for Alfred, stroking his hair. It smelled like carnations.

A drastic shift occurred, catching them off-guard: fear dissolved to euphoria and senses learned to meld together – they could see sounds and hear colors. Images swirled under the bright light and everything they saw flowed in rapid currents. They were more aware of the things inside the room: the posters and collages on the walls, a savaged photograph of the Queen by the dresser, the curtains, Arthur’s discarded clothes on the floor, and other rubbish.

It was the most horrendous, bizarre, exhilarating experience and they had completely surrendered themselves to it.

They lay side by side, happily drowning in synesthesia. Light continued dancing to the influx of colors they couldn’t name. Words fluttered from their mouths without making sense. They laughed, banishing the need for reason. All they felt and knew was intense happiness.

Arthur took off Alfred’s skewed glasses. Making his advances on the American, he recognized an overflowing aggression. Perhaps the drugs seized full control of his brain.

Alfred giggled at the sudden physical contact, saying, “I have to say I like your type.”

“Oh, shut up, hippie.”

Quieted with a deep kiss, Alfred took Arthur’s clothes off. The first to go was the badge-adorned jacket. He could’ve devoted more time reading his pinned advocacies if he wasn’t rushing into action.

“Never done a hippie before?” he asked, unfastening the deadly studded belt, his hands roaming inside Arthur’s tattered jeans.

“Never.” Arthur gave him a harsh grope underneath his shirt. He occupied his hands with the tensing muscles of Alfred’s upper body as he playfully nibbled his lips, licking and touching, exploring the most sensitive spots that triggered Alfred’s arousing reactions.

Alfred breathed a laugh as he felt Arthur’s palm against the clothed bulge between his legs. He hurled his pants down as he couldn’t wait for it to rub against his bare skin. “This is a night you won’t forget.”

“Amuse me,” Arthur smirked. In the back of his mind, he made sure _he_ would make the night unforgettable to Alfred. He flipped him over to his side, entangling his leather-booted legs around his partner. Longing for increased pleasure, Alfred touched himself between the legs, but Arthur was a tease – he removed his hand and replaced it with his, leaving light, ticklish brushes.

Both of them drifted in frenzy. As Arthur’s lubricated fingers entered him, Alfred reached back and leaned his head on his partner’s chest, asking to be held. Arthur easily obliged. Guiding his partner’s legs to position, he moved inside him and held him close. His breathing was strong and rapid on Alfred’s neck. Smoothing the strands away from his neck, he took in his strangely obsessive floral fragrance.

And the most unexpected happened. Alfred felt sharp, inhuman teeth pierce his skin, draining the blood out of him. A wave of unassailable panic swept inside his system. He wanted to run and scream for help – call people’s attention and tell them his life was in danger – but he was only able to choke out a small cry.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” Arthur whispered against his ear. “It’s alright.” He pulled out of Alfred and planted comforting kisses across his back to prove his assurance. Excitement filled his chest as he identified a familiar chemical substance from Alfred’s bloodstream: heroin.

Confusion and fear hadn’t abandoned Alfred. Trembling, he turned over and studied Arthur’s face. Much to his mild relief, Arthur remained human-looking except for the hints of unnaturally pointy teeth underneath his upper lip.

“W-What did you do to me?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Arthur assured him, sincerity visible in his face. “I just tasted you is all.”

It took a moment for Alfred to accept that Arthur meant him no harm. He was unaware of the tears streaming down his cheeks until Arthur wiped them away.

“Shh, it’s alright now,” he said, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

His lips wandered down Alfred’s mouth, and the boy kissed him back, taking his words as a promise. They fastened together, kissed, and touched to continue where they left off. Alfred lay on his side again, his back pressed against Arthur’s chest, thinking whether it was the last night of his life or not, he knew he had nothing to lose.

Arthur quickened his pace at Alfred’s request, moving from slow, deep prodding to curt thrusts, feeling the two of them become one. At some point, Alfred began shivering; tensing against him, his legs jolting with involuntary spasm, while Arthur kissed and nipped his neck, his hand straying from Alfred’s back to his ass.

“There!” Alfred cried, his fingers binding Arthur’s arm more firmly, nails digging against his partner’s flesh.  “Oh, god, right there!”

He was terribly loud like a passionate, wild animal, screaming until his voice was hoarse and the veins in his throat threatened to snap. The bed repeatedly slammed against the wall as they rocked together, Arthur giving in to Alfred’s begging. A heavy layer of sweat covered them as they were left saying mindless, filthy things to each other.

“Ah-I’m coming!” Alfred announced, shuddering as he came.

Arthur followed right away, hearing Alfred’s ecstatic noise tipped him over the edge. He buried his face on Alfred’s shoulder blade, heaving a lungful of air. They were limp and bursting with consuming pleasure. As Alfred pulled the covers up to their chests, Arthur resisted exhaustion for a minute, savoring the wonderful sight. Alfred’s blond hair encircled his head like a halo and he looked so damn happy.

Arthur could barely believe himself when he slipped and told him, “You’re beautiful.”

Alfred laughed and enveloped him in his arms, showering his face with little kisses. Darkness engulfed him, but only for the night, the thought of the loud and rigorous sex they just had leaving a smile on his lips.

☆

The moment he woke up, Alfred searched for his clothes and prepared to leave.

“’Morning, sunshine.”

He turned his head and found Arthur watching him, his lips curved to a small smile. The shadows around his eyes seemed even darker, contrasting his ashen skin. Did he sleep?

Alfred placed a hand on the back of his neck, confirming his unearthly experience last night as he felt the two dots encrusted in his skin. Arthur had kept his promise. He didn’t die. But even if he _did_ , the cause of death would be of sheer pleasure.

“What are you doing?” asked Arthur, eyes transfixed on the clothes in his hands.

“Don’t you want me to leave?” replied Alfred.

“No,” said Arthur, pushing him back to the pillows with an open-mouthed kiss.

Alfred was sure he didn’t want to leave either. He wrapped his legs around Arthur, rubbing his nakedness against him. Under the covers, they would recreate what they did the night before.

☆

Alfred was Arthur’s miracle, his friends declared.

At long last, Arthur had someone to share intimacy, taking a portion of his cynicism away. And they were thankful for that. As Alfred was invited to stay in their place indefinitely, they became a pair, never one without the other.

Covered with a pile of blankets, Alfred and Arthur lay naked on the floor against the foot of the bed. Breath still heavy and hair disheveled, they basked in the glowing aftermath. Arthur lit cigarettes as he puffed the notable details of his long history, the smoke taking Alfred’s mind along with it.

“I’m constantly moving from one place to another. When I feel like I can no longer stay in a town, I move,” said Arthur. He recalled the inevitable times he was separated from his friends and once-loved ones. “I’ve tasted all sorts of people. It wasn’t much of a surprise when I first tasted you.”

Alfred assumed it was the heroin. He’d been using it in the past couple of months as insisted by his friends back home. “Did you sleep with them too?”

A sly smile became visible on Arthur’s face. “Some of them.”

“Have you turned anyone into…?” Alfred hesitated, unsure what to call his kind. But Arthur understood.

“No, I’d never,” Arthur said and took a long drag of his smoke.

Everything else was for another day; it was time for Alfred’s shot. Arthur fumbled through the contents of the tray resting beside him while Alfred stretched his arm for him to bind tight. After rubbing alcohol and tapping his veins a few times, Arthur planted the syringe deep against Alfred’s bloodstream.

Dawn was breaking outside the window. They had made love all night and paid little attention to time.  Alfred closed his eyes and took his time to feel the drug linger in his system. He leaned closer to Arthur after a while and offered his neck.

“Go on,” he said, his big, blue eyes catching the first sunlight.

“Alfred, you don’t have to,” said Arthur.

“I _want_ to,” he said, “I insist.”

Despite his inability to brush his guilt aside, Arthur buried his fangs against the crook of Alfred’s neck, and took part of his heroin rush. Alfred let out a soft moan and enclosed Arthur in his arms. He was starting to love his bites. As Arthur finished, Alfred observed his face, looking through his eyes that turned crimson with slits of black.

They gazed at the rising sun and caressed the light on their skin, their fingers tracing the golden outline of their faces. Alfred’s lips found Arthur’s, then left small kisses on his jaw to his shoulder, and rested his head on it.

He left home in search of adventure and found something better. Keeping Arthur’s valuable secret, he felt special for the first time in his life.


End file.
